Five plus years ago when I wrote Black Friday: A Zombie Story, I worked mostly evenings as a people greeter. I slept late, went to work, got off at ten, came home, stayed up all night. I wrote at night when I could have been sleeping. I stayed up because I knew I didn’t have to get up until I wanted.

Now, I have the same schedule, with some mornings thrown in randomly. But I also have a kid now. A wild, rambunctious, hilarious, wonderful little girl who has my heart and my sleep pattern wrapped around her pinkie. If I don’t go to bed when she does I don’t get any sleep. I have to fight with her every night to go to bed. And while the cuddles are to die for, it makes it hard to do anything but picture myself snuggled in my bed.

I used to write at work. I used to carry a little Five Star Notebook, and a pen, and wrote on breaks or when no one was looking (sorry management).

I don’t do that anymore. I don’t write anymore. I’ve tried. I really have. I get ideas when I’m falling asleep or driving or in the middle of something that requires my attention. And I forget them.

Sleepless nights when my baby was a baby and wouldn’t sleep unless held, or those nights I slept in a chair in her nursery (when it had more furniture than toys) I’d hold her and hen peck on my iPod. I wrote “Twisted Tales: Handy Manny” that way. I wrote some “Fiction Me This” stories that way.

I can’t anymore. I want to write so badly. I want to put a pen to paper, hen peck on my iPod with my thumbs, type on my computer. I can’t get ideas. And if I do I can’t write them down or I forget them. Or I’m just so tired.

I’m exhausted. All the time. I left work at 2. I was scheduled to leave at two. I could have been nice and volunteered to stay at least until coverage came in. I didn’t. The prospect of going home to nap uninterrupted for even a few minutes was the most excitement I’ve had in months. And I slept. But I woke up with my hip and weirdly my big toe hurting.

I get off work with every joint below my waist hurting, including my back and the bottoms of my feet. Even when I get off work during the afternoon and I’d have time to write, I tell myself, “there’s other things I could do”. Dishes needing washed. Toys need picked up. I have a million and one projects started that will never get finished.

I started crocheting my daughter a baby blanket almost the moment I knew she was going to be a girl. She’s three. It’s a third of the way complete. It’ll never be done. And I’m ashamed. Luckily she hates blankets (unless she’s playing peek-a-boo).

I’ve started story ideas. Not short stories those I’ve done numerous times. Stories that could be epically long, and never finished them. And the one I fear won’t get finished. The the one that everyone wants me to write.

“The Black Friday Curse” the sequel (?) to BF:AZS has had everyone excited. By everyone I mean the four people who were interested in it in the last six months. But I’m stuck because I don’t honestly see a plausible reason for a sequel involving zombies. Yes. It’s zombies and they’re not necessarily plausible anyway (depending on who you talk to). But with this story (I’m going for no spoilers) and the way it ended I’m not sure how to bring them back. I have an idea but I think it’s lame. But it’s all I got.

I don’t know when it’ll be worked on, much less finished. I don’t know when I’ll get the gumption to work on it. Maybe some day.

I don’t know. As soon as I know, so will you.